She just had a Scorpio moon, and a Capricorn rising," Flynn choked out through buttercream and rebirth. "She didn't hate me—she just scheduled her love."
Brunchaia placed a velvet-gloved hand on his shoulder. "She was emotionally constipated, not malicious. There's a difference."
Clarissa gasped. "That's the most healing sentence I've ever heard." She immediately wrote it down in her journal, which was made entirely of recycled avoidance patterns.
Carl stood, frosting clinging to his beard like emotional glitter. "The soufflé is my mother now," he whispered solemnly, licking residual accountability off his own elbow.
And then—the carts rolled in.
No wheels. They simply hovered, propelled by the winds of reparenting.
The first cart bore the Pie of Personal Boundaries—thick, golden, and served with a ladle of "It's Not Rude to Say No." Zach sliced a piece with surgical precision, finally applying his unused biology degree for something that mattered.
